


Domesticity

by IAmNotLost



Series: The Domesticity Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Fluff, Living Together, M/M, Stiles is in college, derek works, details if i continue?, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotLost/pseuds/IAmNotLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I will give you the best blowjob of your <i>entire life</i> if you do the dishes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> Moved on over from my tumblr, http://tinyfics.tumblr.com/
> 
> come say hi, I take prompts  
> and friends!  
> (◡‿◡✿)

"I will give you the best blowjob of your _entire_ life if you do the dishes.”

At least, Stiles rationalizes, Derek hesitates. He was wearing the man down, slowly but surely. Stiles had patience. He was like a _saint,_ okay, brimming at the surface with virtues and all that.

"Or I could put it this way—I’ll never blow you again if you don’t do the dishes."

Is blackmail a virtue?

"You do realize that the assigned chores was your idea, don’t you? You gave yourself dish duty." Derek raises a brow, tipping his head to try and direct the look to Stiles from where they’re curled up on the couch. It’s a Tuesday night, college _sucks,_ and Stiles is ridiculously exhausted.

Okay, if Derek were to ask him for sex, right now, he’d be fine. But the point is, he’s too exhausted for dishes. Whatever.

"Yes, it was my idea, perfect, I’m changing the rules. You also have dish duty."

"And laundry. And dinner on school nights. I feel like a mom." 

Stiles can _hear_ the petulant frown in Derek’s voice and he has to bite on his lips to keep from smiling. He sneaks a hand out from where it was smushed in the little pocket of space between their sides to trail his fingers up Derek’s thigh. Derek freezes for a split second before huffing, grabbing Stiles’ wrist just as he’s trying to palm Derek through his jeans.

"I’m not going to let you bribe me with blowjobs."

"Technically, this looks more like it’d turn into a hand job right now."

Derek snorts and lifts Stiles’ hand to mouth at his wrist, and god dammit, it’s the little things like that that make Stiles’ breathing hitch, make his heart pound in anticipation.

"You know, I seem to remember you making a penalty for whoever didn’t do their assigned chore of the night."

Stiles groans, and it’s not the sort of groaning he wanted to hear. “You _remembered?_ Fuck.”

Belatedly, Stiles realizes his hand is now resting against Derek’s cheek, because he can feel the smirk without even having to see it, can feel the way the muscles in Derek’s face twitch in the way that Stiles knows means Derek’s trying to keep his face stoic. He’s far too amused, though. Stiles can tell.

"Something about feathers and honey?" Derek’s voice is innocent, but the demon lies within, Stiles is sure of it. And then he’s nuzzling against Stiles’ hand like an overgrown cat, and it’s cuter than it it has any right to be. Like, excuse me, Stiles is trying to be angry here.

It’s hard being angry, though, when the situation is 20% annoyance, 30% Derek being cute, and 50% Stiles being exhausted after that two hour long criminology class he basically fucked himself over with by taking. Honestly. The class description should have come with ‘you actually sell your soul to satan, and your body is now just a vessel. Good luck.’

So, Stiles tries plan B. He always has plan B.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." He murmurs, shifting his body so he can sort of drape over Derek like a long-limbed blanket, nuzzling his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, baring his own. They’ve come a long way, Stiles can appreciate it.

Can appreciate how easy it is to press his lips on Derek’s throat, if he wants to, can appreciate the way Derek opens up to him now, says ‘good morning’ when they wake up, traces ‘I love you’ into Stiles’ skin.

(Which was ridiculously corny at first, but Stiles is cranky the whole day, now, if he wakes up in bed with Derek and it doesn’t happen. He’s been _domesticated._ )

Stiles appreciates so much, in fact, that he’s drowsy with it. Derek’s saying something but Stiles’ ears are clogged, brain sluggish, so he lifts a palm to pat twice at Derek’s cheek, gurgling incoherencies, and falls asleep.

-

For all of the lack of sleep Stiles had during his teen years—because, really, he could live a full life based on those hours alone—he makes up for in college. Partying? Not before sleeping. Food? Not before he catches some shut eye. Sex?

Well, that was Derek’s rule, because he was a sour puss and stiles may have accidentally fallen asleep _once_ —but that was a story for another time.

Point is, Stiles sleeps easily, now, especially when he’s sleeping with Derek. Or on the couch.

Which is where he finds himself right now, a little disoriented from the nap, blinking at the dark green/grey throw that was covering his body. The one thing about sleeping though, Stiles can confirm, is the moment of sheer confusion after waking up. Seriously, Derek never gets it, but Stiles feels like his entire life just disappeared, or something.

It was too fucking early for this shit.

There’s light streaming in through the windows, and Stiles can hear Derek walking around, can smell the coffee. He knows he’s up a little earlier than usual, because Derek’s not halfway out the door, and it makes sense since he fell asleep sometime around 8:30.

Stiles finds Derek pouring himself a cup of coffee, throwing a soft smile over his shoulder. Stiles is never going to get tired of it.

"I didn’t think you were going to sleep until morning." Derek turns to face him. His eyes are still soft but there’s a crease between his brow, and Stiles has to smooth it away with his lips.

“‘Was tired.” He yawns, peering over Derek’s shoulder at the coffee pot, but his attention is caught by the sink—empty. Shiny silver, too. And the dish rack—also empty.

The hamper is sitting by the end of the counter, and, yeah. There’s nothing in there, either.

He doesn’t know why, but Stiles is suddenly slapped in the face with _feelings._

"You spoil me." He takes a sip of Derek’s coffee before his kisses him so he doesn’t smell like morning breath. It’s not a hurried thing, really. It’s Derek’s hips against the counter and Stiles’ fingers gripping his shirt, and wrapping his other hand around Derek’s and the mug.

It’s only when Stiles pulls back to press a kiss to Derek’s jaw that he noticed his college text books, the ones that he only uses on Wednesdays, neatly on the kitchen counter. Oh, _god fucking dammit._

Stiles is so in love his can feel it in his knees.

-

And then he blows Derek until Derek can feel it in _his_ knees, until Stiles feels the trembling of muscles as he rakes his fingers down naked thighs.

Blackmail might not be a virtue, but honesty is, right?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of turning this into a series?
> 
> A little domesticity series, with living together fluff? Maybe? Any interest? o:


End file.
